


Chiaroscuro

by deadcellredux



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunken Cameos, Emotional Baggage, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fix-It, Hope, Meta, Multi, Post-Canon, Sassy Arrownys, Slice of Life, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/pseuds/deadcellredux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually, one finds reasons to stop running.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imadra_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/gifts).



> _Prompt: I am frankly a Terra girl. I want all the good things for Terra here. You can ship her with almost anyone (except Locke, I'd prefer he not be involved), and I'll be happy. Terra/Edgar and Terra/Shadow really wind my clock. A part of me wants the happily ever after post-canon fairy tale where Terra goes to a ball at Figaro Castle and Edgar sweeps her off her feet and means it. I also adore Relm, and I'd love to see her and Terra interact more, and Relm and Shadow interact, and anything. I like fix-it fic where Shadow lives and goes home to Relm after the game. I could take more background on Terra, Relm, Shadow, or future fic, or anything you want. Beyond those guys, I don't have too much ideas, but I did like Sabin and Setzer, too. Watching them deal without magic after the game would be fascinating, or missing scenes from the flash-forward to the World of Ruin, or AU, and so on. In the end, make sure it works for you, whatever you do._
> 
>  
> 
> Hello! Oh dear, I hope you like what I've written! What you said about Shadow, Terra and Relm really jumped out at me; especially the part about Shadow coming home to Relm (though I kind of reversed that and ran with it, here). I kept finding more and more things that I wanted to write into this, and this wound up a bit long and hopefully not TOO off-track. In any case, I hope you enjoy some part of this and that it was somewhat satisfying, and I plan on writing more in this particular post-game universe someday-- thank you so much for inspiring me with your prompt!! :) :) 
> 
> (Also, a note on timelines: I picture the events of the game taking about 3 years to transpire, and this fic taking place about 2 years after that-- hence placing Relm at 15, Terra at 23, and Clyde... well, we don't know how old Clyde is, but I picture him to be in his late 30's here. Just a bit of my headcanon concerning timelines!)

\+ + + + + 

If you’re losing your soul and you know it, then you’ve still got a soul left to lose.  
\- Charles Bukowski

\+ + + + + 

Clyde wasn’t exactly sure what woke him—the booming bark of Interceptor or Terra’s hands, shaking him— but their urgency roused him from fitful dreams to uneasy lucidity.

“Clyde,” Terra whispered, as he opened his eyes to the dark. When he turned his head in what he believed was the general direction of her face, she continued with all-too-predictable words. “There’s something outside.”

Interceptor was half-howling now, anxious sounds whining in his throat. “Quiet, boy,” Clyde commanded, and despite the practiced calm in his voice, Interceptor listened. A final, tiny noise escaped Interceptor’s throat as he paced fitfully, ears perking to the sounds outside, eyes fixed on points far beyond the window. 

Clyde heard a long _scrrritch_ of metal against wood as Terra pulled out the sword she kept beneath her side of the bed. The scratches on the floor, accumulated over time from that very action, had become too numerous to count. As he lit the lamp on the bedside table, Clyde was met with the sight of Terra staring out the window, one hand resting on the pane and the other wrapped tightly around the hilt of her sword. 

“Something’s frightened the animals,” Terra said, and Clyde hoped to whatever good might be left in the world that it was just another monster roaming loose; an unfortunate memento of Kefka’s magic, or one of the untold numbers of creatures released from Magitek labs after the collapse of the world. Clyde tried not to think of the alternatives wandering the world: gangs of violent vagabonds, thieves and looters who sacked small villages.

“Stay here,” Clyde said, already pulling on his boots. Terra was still barefoot and wearing nothing but her nightgown; Clyde knew she’d rush outside regardless to fight without a second thought. “It’s my turn to go anyway. Remember last time, when that wolf got at the Chocobos? That was all you.” he tried to smile. “I’ll signal if I need you.”

Terra turned around to face him, and Clyde could tell by the set of her jaw that she didn’t want to let him go alone. Terra was fiercely protective of Mobliz and its inhabitants; it was more of a home than she’d ever had, and Clyde knew that she would rather die before she saw any of that destroyed. He admired her strength in that regard, but he could also see that she was _tired_ , too tired, it often seemed, for someone so young. She nodded, finally, and turned back towards the window. “Be careful,” she said quietly.

With one hand on the flare he’d strike to signal for help if he needed it and the other on an old dagger, Clyde slipped out into the night. Interceptor followed, or rather _led—_ as soon as Clyde opened the back door to the home he shared with Terra, Interceptor tore past him, pushing past Clyde through the narrow doorframe and disappearing into the distance.

There wasn’t much ground to cover if it came down to a search. Mobliz consisted of about twenty makeshift houses interspersed with small fields and patches of crops. The stretch of land that Clyde and Terra tended also played host to a few pens holding Chocobos and some emaciated livestock. Presently they were nervously stamping and shifting, the Chocobos letting out agitated, shrill squawks. To try to calm them would be useless; right now, Clyde was focused on finding the source that had spooked them in the first place. 

The light of the moon—it was full tonight—reflected off the coast of the ocean in the distance. Despite the glow illuminating the world around him, Clyde could see no target yet as he stalked along the perimeter of a potato patch. 

A crescendo of barking seemed to rise all at once, nearly causing Clyde to jump. Instinctively, he looked in the direction of the noise—to the east, back towards most of the houses. When he turned his gaze forward again, he caught sight of a figure bursting hastily from the edge of a small cornfield, breaking into a run. Interceptor zigzagged back into Clyde’s vision, seemingly from out of nowhere, in desperate pursuit of the intruder now headed towards an unkempt patch of bushes. 

All of the dogs in the village were barking now, and when Clyde looked back before beginning to run, he could see that lights had appeared in several windows. Shouts began to rise in the distance from the center of the town, and Clyde almost had to laugh as the figure leapt into—or rather, _onto_ — the bushes, with Interceptor right on its heels. Whatever it was, it sure was awfully tiny to have caused such a commotion, and Interceptor quickly had it pinned. 

Or rather, not _pinned_ at all. 

As Clyde came upon the flattened bushes, he was presented with the rather puzzling sight of Interceptor’s tail, poking out and wagging furiously from where he’d actually _crawled beneath_ the dirty cape covering the intruder.

“Hey!” Clyde yelled, and tossing the flare aside, pulled the filthy canvas away to reveal the very last thing he’d ever have expected.

Relm.

She was sprawled out on the crushed sprigs of the bushes, eyes wide, her arms around Interceptor. “Hey,” she calmly replied. Interceptor whined happily, tail whipping back and forth frantically as he nuzzled her face. “Uh. Clyde. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Clyde’s mouth moved stupidly, but he couldn’t will his tongue to make a sound. His mind blank, several seconds passed before Relm spoke again. “You just gonna stare?” 

Clyde’s arms went limp, dropping to his sides. “What are you _doing_?” he finally asked. 

“Running away from the dismally inevitable. Apple doesn’t fall far, huh?” Relm turned her face back towards Interceptor, cupping his head in her hands and nuzzling her face against his. Interceptor snorted happily, and Relm smiled as he licked her face. 

“But Strago was—“

“He’s dead.” Relm’s tone was flat, and Clyde’s confusion turned to a hollow, dull ache of shock. “So I left.”

The shouts had grown louder behind them, and Clyde could hear Terra’s voice echoing out across the field, trying to discern exactly what was going on.

Clyde didn’t turn, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Relm. He felt a sinking feeling wash over him as he watched the way Relm avoided eye contact and stroked Interceptor’s fur, the motion of her hands repetitive, shaky, _anxious_.

“It’s my—“ Clyde took a breath, hearing Terra’s footsteps rustling through the grass behind him as she called out his name. “It’s Relm.”

“Hey Terra,” Relm said.

“Relm!” Terra cried, and immediately dropped to her knees to crawl forward and place her hands on Relm’s shoulders. “Are you alright? What—how—“

“Never been better. Really hungry though. Hi.” Relm shifted her attention from Interceptor to Terra, pulling her into a brief embrace.

The young townspeople of Mobliz had gathered around the strange scene playing out in Terra and Clyde's small patch of farm, brandishing makeshift weapons and ready to help defend. “Who’s that?” one of the boys yelled.

“The boogeyman,” Relm yelled back, and Terra hastily stood to hush the lot of rowdy adolescents.

“It’s an old friend,” Terra announced, loudly. “There is no threat here. Everyone, please, get back to your homes.”

“Aw shucks,” one of the boys said, kicking petulantly at a rotting fence post. “This ain’t no fun!”

“You should know better than to wish for violence, Jacob,” Terra said sternly. “We count our blessings of peace here.”

“Course I want peace, don’t mean I don’t want to see a monster too!”

“Enough with you,” Clyde ordered, “Get back to bed.” The crowd began to disperse, some swift and sulky, while others attempted to linger and get a closer look at the strange girl who’d turned up in the middle of the night.

“Pretty exciting around here,” Relm mused.

“Come on,” Terra said, taking Relm’s hand in hers and helping to pull her to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned and fed.”

\+ + + + +

Relm washed up hastily in the bath Terra filled for her (too hot, initially, for Relm to bear; Terra was fond of extreme temperatures), the meal awaiting her being her main concern. Relm had barely even toweled off before pulling a clean nightgown of Terra’s over her head and heading down to the kitchen, leaving a trail of water-droplets behind her.

It had been nearly two years since Relm and Strago had returned home to Thamasa after Kefka’s defeat, and Terra had not seen the girl since the day their victorious group had gone their separate ways. Relm had grown— she was fifteen now, grown tall and lanky, her wild curls cropped much shorter than Terra remembered, her expression slightly hardened. Terra could see Clyde in her, now—in the angle of her cheekbones and the shape of her nose, in random and uncannily similar mannerisms. 

When Relm reached for the bread after already having put away two fish and three potatoes, Terra began to worry that she might eat herself ill. It would have been rude, however, to deny her; Terra also took a bit of delight in the fact that Relm seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. She looked as if she hadn’t eaten a decent meal—or perhaps much of anything at all—in days.

“There was nothing left for me in Thamasa,” Relm said in-between bites. “So I left. Without granddad, there really wasn’t any point, you know? So I sold everything we owned. Spent all my money to hitch a ride. Got on a boat and never looked back.” she shrugged and took a long swallow of her water. “You got any more jam?”

“Ah— of course. Clyde, please.”

The feet of Clyde’s chair groaned against the kitchen floor as he wordlessly pushed back from the table, stood, and retrieved the jar of apple preserves from the pantry. 

“Thanks,” Relm said, as he placed the jar on the table. Terra couldn’t help but notice the fact that the two of them had been avoiding eye contact with one another the entire time. Nor had either one of them directly addressed the other at any point during the conversation. When Clyde nodded in response, Relm didn’t see.

“I understand their feeling of loss,” Terra said, as Relm purposefully slathered a thick layer of preserves on yet another hunk of bread. “It has taken me… quite a long time to acclimate. It’s very empty, at first. It still is empty, some days.” She couldn’t help but rub her hands together absently as she spoke; it still felt strange without a spark there, heat at her fingertips and energy constantly humming beneath her skin, waiting to be tapped. 

“Yeah. I don’t—” Relm began, and hesitated. She furrowed her brow for a moment, staring at her plate, and Terra got the sense that Relm was trying to avoid talking about her own experience with losing her innate magical abilities. “Nobody knew what to do,” Relm finally continued. “Everything was ruined, the world had gone to hell, and now they didn’t even have _magic_ to help them out?” she shook her head. “I think magic may have been their last way of coping with everything that had happened. But then…” Relm shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “Even though things were better with Kefka gone, they just started to…” she shook her head again, and gestured by sliding a finger across her throat. “Just lost their will to live, I guess. Granddad was sick, had been for a while. I took care of him until the end. After that, I had… I had to go.” She blinked a few times, and Terra noticed that her fists were clenched where they rested against the edge of the table. Clyde shifted in his seat.

Terra kept her voice calm. “It’s okay. No need to dwell on that any more. You’re here with us now. We have a spare room we can—“ 

“I’ll work,” Relm interrupted, looking up. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I’m strong as any boy my age.”

“Relm, there’s no need for you to work. If you wish to help out, it is certainly welcome, but there’s no need for you to earn your keep here. You’re a dear friend to me, and you’re…” Terra glanced at Clyde. He was very still, arms crossed, staring down at the cracks in the table. The muted pain in his expression after hearing Relm’s story made Terra feel slightly ill, all the more so because she knew that Clyde would not— _could_ not— express it. “You’re family.”

“I just don’t want to force myself into anyone’s care,” Relm said, her tone suddenly tense. “ I don’t want to feel like I don’t belong. I’m done with that. I’m fine on my own.” 

“Relm,” Clyde said firmly, looking up. “You’re staying.”

Relm laughed mirthlessly. “Haven’t seen you in years and the first thing you do is tell me what to do. Thought you’d be more personable, considering that time we _saved the world together_ and all.”

“That’s enough, please,” Terra said, as Clyde shook his head slowly and looked away from Relm. Terra’s stomach had tightened into a knot, and the body language of the pair seated on either side of her indicated that they likely felt the same way. “It’s been a tiring night. I think we all need some rest.”

Relm crossed her arms and leaned back, sighing heavily, brow furrowed. When Terra looked from her to Clyde, it was almost like viewing a reflection.

\+ + + + +

“She’s insufferable,” Clyde whispered into Terra’s hair, his hand skimming lazily over her skin. They’d been lying silent for some time after retiring, and Terra touched his hand where it came to rest on her hip.

“It’s quite clear that she’s your daughter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re both stubborn. Defensive.”

“Is she going through some sort of female thing?” Clyde sounded exasperated. “They start to act a bit strange around her age, don’t they?”

“I think it’s less of a female thing and more of a genetic thing,” Terra sighed, and pulled Clyde’s arm tight around her.

“Maybe you could talk to her,” Clyde said. “When she’s ready. About magic. That’s… that’s one type of loss I know absolutely nothing about.” 

Clyde could feel Terra nod against his chin. Above them, they could hear Relm moving fitfully about in the spare bedroom. There was a creak of bedsprings, then footsteps, then the sound of a pile of objects—no doubt the contents of one of the small bags of belongings she’d had on her person—spilling out onto the floor. 

“Looks like she’s inherited my troubles with sleep,” Clyde said.

“She’ll get comfortable here. Just give it time.”

Clyde rolled over onto his back with a sigh, rubbing his palms against his eyes—they were tired, and dry—and then pushed his fingers up through his hair, thick and curly as Relm’s, but gone mostly gray.

“I wasn’t prepared for this. She was better off not having me around. She was better off nowhere near me.”

“Strago wasn’t going to live forever.”

“Regardless of that, I have no place in her life.” Clyde’s voice was slightly strained, a hint of reluctance in his tone. “And she has no place in mine.”

Terra rolled over to face him and propped herself up on an elbow. 

“Clyde.” 

He shook his head.

“It’s just—it’s her eyes,” he said, staring up into the darkness. His voice had gone soft again. “They’re empty.”

“She’s been through quite a lot. It’s not right for a child to have seen the things she’s seen or lived through what she’s lived through. Life was not… necessarily kind to her. But she’ll get through it.”

Clyde reached out to run his fingers against Terra’s cheek in the dark. “I can only hope that she is half as strong as you,” Terra touched his hand with hers, as he ran his fingers up into her hair, soft as yarn to his touch. “and nothing like me. I hope I haven’t left her with that.”

“She’s strong.” Terra kissed his fingertips. “And so are you.”

Clyde shifted and leaned forward to kiss Terra on the mouth. “I’m going for a walk,” he said, pulling back only slightly to look into her eyes. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Okay.”

“Sleep well,” Clyde said, and left her with a kiss on the forehead. 

He shut the door to the bedroom behind him as quietly as possible and just stood there for a moment, one hand still on the knob, the other over his face.

His head hurt. He was confused; he had no idea what to think about the fact that his daughter was currently in the same place as he, once again. This was the third time she’d found him, when being found by _anyone_ was the last thing he wanted. It was hard enough with Terra; it had only been a little over a year since he’d found himself at Mobliz after wandering, purposeless, feeling much like a mongrel with its tail between its legs, searching desperately for something to call home. Ironically enough, he’d felt much like a walking ghost after faking his death at the fall of Kefka’s tower. Terra had welcomed him without question and without judgment; what they had was probably the closest thing to _love_ he’d ever thought possible to feel.

He’d no idea how to act around Relm; up until this point he’d envisioned her as perfectly happy in his mind, somewhere else, living her own life, never once thinking of him since the last time they’d parted.

He didn’t _want_ her to think of him.

Yet inexplicably, the sense that perhaps she really _hadn’t_ been thinking of him hurt immeasurably. 

As he walked past the kitchen table with the intent of heading outside, something caught his eye. One of the packs Relm had been carrying with her was on the table, its contents strewn about. She must have looked through before she went up to bed; Clyde wondered why she had left it there, and curiosity led him to take a closer look.

There were papers, paintbrushes, dried-out sticks of charcoal and small containers of pigments, rusted shut. From the looks of her materials, it seemed like Relm hadn’t used them in quite some time. Something about this fact made Clyde feel slightly ill.

He brushed his fingers over some of the papers, the majority of them covered in crude charcoal sketches, a handful of them colored. A sickening chill washed over Clyde and his stomach twisted and dropped when he pushed a pile aside and uncovered one in particular.

The paper was curled, edges tinged brown with age, colors faded and art style unpolished. It was a piece of Relm’s work from early childhood, surely, when she had first begun to discover her talents, before she discovered a way of channeling magic into her creations.

It was a portrait of Relm, her mother, and Clyde.

Relm had drawn them all laughing, entwined together in one embrace. Clyde was the only one drawn imperfectly; looking at the illustration was like looking at a skewed, much-younger version of himself. Clyde realized that this must have been drawn entirely from Relm’s memory, as he had left Thamasa long before Relm would have been old enough to draw something of this quality, amateur though it was when compared to her later work.

There were more illustrations beneath the one he had found, an entire pile which, Clyde realized, were all very old, and were all portraits of himself.

In one, Relm had sketched him in the armor of a Doma knight. In another, he stood at the helm of an unfinished vehicle, most likely, he assumed, an airship. There were other sketches of him engaged in various heroic actions and scenes, and in each and every one he looked young, happy, and _good_. 

The sick, heavy knot in his stomach seemed to grow twice as large when he realized that Relm had been sketching, over the years, all of the reasons her father may have had to leave to suddenly. It seemed that in her innocent mind, she had envisioned him a hero called away by a noble duty, sure to return to her one day.

“This isn’t me,” Clyde muttered aloud through clenched teeth. 

He shakily re-arranged the drawings in a pile resembling their original arrangement, and quickly made his exit out into the open, cool night air.

 _You have disappointed her at every turn, even when you weren’t even_ there. _She thought you were a hero. You—a failed, dishonest criminal unable to grant a last wish to the only friend you had. She looked up to you, and you left her. Even when you heard that her mother had died, you still wouldn’t come back. Your demons have always taken priority over anything you ever could have loved._

He walked quickly, angrily, completely lost in his own head.

_Then she finds out your identity. A killer for hire, with the dog that left her, too. The world ends, and you disappear again—yet here you are. You found your way back to Terra, and now Relm has found her way back to you._

_You said you weren’t going to run anymore. But running’s all you’ve done._

Clyde walked for hours, lost in thought, knot still heavy in his stomach. The sun had started to rise when he finally crawled back into bed, and Clyde was thankful that Terra did not wake when he slid beneath the sheets besides her.

\+ + + + +

“Moogles don’t _dance_.”

“They sure do.”

“No they don’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Relm brandished a potato, waggling it at a boy her age named Ethan whom she’d quickly befriended since coming to Mobliz. “And just how many moogles have _you_ known, my good sir, who have educated you on the level of their dancing skills?” she tossed the potato into the basket besides her, and wiped the sweat off of her brow with the back of a dirt-covered hand. Ethan opened his mouth, but Relm cut him off before he could respond. “Oh, that’s right—“ she tapped her chin with a finger. “ _none_.”

“Pssh.” Ethan took off the wide-brimmed hat he was wearing to run a hand back through his hair before digging his spade back into the dirt. “What do you know about moogles anyway?”

“I was friends with one,” Relm said, chin in the air. “Ask Terra. We go way back, you know.”

Ethan shrugged, unearthing the surface of a potato knobby with sprouts. “I don’t like to ask Ma— uh, Ms. Terra about the past. She gets upset, you know. ‘Specially since it reminds her of the time she left us for a while.”

“Hmm,” Relm nodded absently, feeling her bravado begin to dissolve.

“Let me guess—when she left us, she joined up with you and your whole crew, right?”

Relm fiddled absently, fingers pushing through the dirt. “Well yes,” she said, “But she didn’t really leave you guys. She came back.”

Ethan inspected the potato he’d pulled free from the ground before adding it into the basket between them. “Yeah. Good thing. It was scary. Being left alone, like that. But we all believed she’d come back, and she did.”

“Sometimes believing in something isn’t enough to make it come true,” Relm said, unable to suppress the bitterness in her tone. She couldn’t help but think of Clyde and how he’d left, how he _still_ seemed to be running from her, no matter what she did. She’d been in Mobliz for a little over a week now, and their interactions had been limited to the bare minimum. She wasn’t even sure how Terra was able to stand him— Terra, so quiet and kind, so _nurturing_ despite her past and all she’d struggled to understand. Yet here was Clyde, so much _older_ than Terra, yet in Relm’s eyes still so impossibly dense and cold and _immature—_

“Earth to Relm,” Ethan said. “You’re spacin’ out.”

“Sorry,” Relm said, pulled from the confines of her mind back into reality.

“Potato duty sucks,” Ethan sighed, seemingly aware that a subject change might be a good idea. “Would rather be fishin’.”

Relm was thankfully distracted from her drastic drop in mood by the sudden force of wind that sent ripples through the stalks of crops, whipped up clouds of dust, and nearly blew Ethan’s hat from his head before he could clamp a hand down over it. 

“Nice!” Ethan yelled over the roaring of the wind. “They’re here!”

Relm was already looking in the direction Ethan was pointing. It was an airship, descending not far off from the outskirt of Mobliz, and Relm immediately recognized it as the Falcon. She couldn’t help but break out into a smile so wide that it made her face hurt, leaping up with a flood of overjoyed adrenaline to watch the craft touch down to the earth.

“Lemme guess,” Ethan said, standing and casually leaning an elbow on her shoulder. “You go way back with these guys too?”

Relm couldn’t help but laugh, heartily, the sound rumbling up from her belly. It was the first time in a very, very long time that she could remember laughing. She wasn’t sure who was on board the Falcon, exactly, but she knew it would be a friend, and somehow this made her feel like more of a person and less like the empty shell she’d viewed herself as for the past several months.

“I Sure do! I’ll catch you later,” Relm said, clapping Ethan hard on the back. “And hey. You find me a moogle,” Relm pointed at Ethan and winked. “And I’ll make him dance.”

She sprinted off towards the Falcon, and blamed the wind for the tears that streamed from her eyes.

\+ + + + +

On board the Falcon had been Setzer and Edgar, and with them they’d brought a stockpile of supplies. After the initial excitement and celebration in the town had died down—it had been longer than usual since their last delivery of goods, and their distribution was a joyous affair—they retired to Terra and Clyde’s home for some much-needed relaxation and catching-up. There was meat for dinner that night in lieu of the usual fish, and cake for dessert. Relm couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real sweet.

“So how about it?” Setzer asked cheerfully, brandishing a bottle after the dinner table had been cleared. “Let’s pop the cork on this. A special batch for a special lady.” He gestured towards Terra. 

“I believe that’s the third ‘special batch’ you’ve opened this evening,” she replied.

“Third time’s a charm,” Setzer said, already filling Terra’s glass with the liquor. “And we’ve Relm here. We’re drinking to a reunion! Come on now. I made this myself!”

“It’s his new ‘business’,” Edgar said. “Seems to be working out well enough.”

“Textiles and bootleg liquor,” Clyde mused from across the table, taking a sip from his own glass. “Interesting combination, to say the least.”

“Listen,” Setzer said, leaning an elbow on the table and pointing a finger at Clyde. “The ladies want to look their best, and the gentlemen want their booze.” He leaned back and held out his hands. “I only aim to please, with the simple pleasures in life.”

“The gambling business is still thriving as well,” Edgar shrugged. “Coliseum is always packed. The sad truth of it is that the people are more willing to spend money on their vices than to offer straight donations. So what better way to funnel funds into the up-and-coming Figaro Empire? There’s no other way we’d get enough to manufacture more airships. Quite honestly, a system of air trade is the best hope this world has got right now.” Edgar drained his glass and placed it back on the table with a clack. “It’s deceptive, I suppose. But if all goes according to plan, the end might justify the means. There’s just too much left uncharted and unexplored right now. I’ve got my cartographers mapping the new continents, horticulturists trying to re-grow old flora and cultivate the new, historians trying to keep track of everything…” he sighed. 

Setzer re-filled Edgar’s glass with a knowing nod. “Drown those sorrows quick, Your Highness. You’re killing the mood here.”

“Speaking of which,” Edgar continued, perking up. “I could fly you in, Relm, whenever you’d like. If you’d like to visit, that is, and have your story added to the records.” 

“I doubt I’d have anything too interesting to say,” Relm said, suddenly feeling bashful. She shrugged, idly fiddling with the glass Terra had allowed Setzer to half-fill with liquor. “I mean, I didn’t do much. You guys did most of the really heroic stuff.” 

“But you’re an artist!” Edgar cried, raising a hand to gesture dramatically. “You could provide visual narration! That could help, you know. Think about the younger generations being born into this world. They’ve no _idea_ what the previous world looked like.”

“I don’t really draw much anymore,” Relm said.

“Well regardless, I’d love to have you visit, and we’re just really, really, _really_ happy to see you, Relm,” Edgar had begun to slur a bit, and Relm laughed.

“Don’t get all drunk and emotional on me,” she said, her face feeling hot. She wasn’t sure if it was the liquor she’d drank, or the flood of nostalgia she’d been feeling all evening. “But I’m really happy to see you too.”

“It’s nice to see you here with Terra and Clyde,” Setzer said, raising his glass. “Especially considering your loss. But this is a new beginning—“

Clyde stood abruptly, swallowing the last of the liquor and placing the empty glass on the table. “I’ll be taking my leave for the evening,” he announced. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure, as always. Safe travels home.”

There was a tentative chorus of goodnights as Clyde took his leave. 

“It’s like he can preemptively sniff out emotions and plots his escape once he catches a trail,” Relm said, once she heard the shutting of the bedroom door.

“Relm,” Terra said, and took her glass. “That’s enough. In fact, I think we’ve all had enough to drink. We can talk more in the morning.”

“I’ve gone and made things awkward,” Setzer said, wincing. “I apologize.”

“Don’t apologize,” Relm sighed. “It’s not your fault at all.”

\+ + + + +

After waking from a dreamless sleep and tossing and turning until Terra woke, groggy and confused, Clyde decided to go for a walk. It had become a routine, at this point; midnight walks to clear his mind and tire his body enough to attempt rest once more. Edgar and Setzer had taken their leave several days ago, and despite Clyde’s generally antisocial nature, the silence and lack of energy in the small house bothered him.

He left the house, wandering out across the field on his usual path. It was the middle of summer, now, but the nights remained comfortably cool. He could smell the scent of the nearby ocean on the breeze as he made his way closer to the edge of the farmland, and as he came upon a cluster of gnarled, bent trees, he caught sight of a figure sitting in the dirt.

He knew immediately that it was Relm, and paused in his tracks, unsure of whether or not he should approach her. She was concentrating on something, her back turned to him while her shoulders moved. 

There had to be a reason why she was out here, alone, in the middle of the night; he decided that now would be as good a time as any to approach her.

She turned her head when she heard his footsteps, and her eyes showed no emotion upon catching sight of him. She simply turned back to what she was doing, and when he got close enough to look down over her shoulder, he saw that she was whittling a slim stick down to a narrow point with a small blade.

“Carving arrows?” he asked. His voice sounded loud and strange in the silence of the night.

“Paintbrushes,” Relm replied, angrily shaving off another sliver of wood. 

“Ah.” Clyde took a breath. “What are you doing out here?” he caught sight, then, of a bulging rucksack set besides her. It looked as if she’d packed for travel. “And what is this for?”

“I’m leaving,” Relm said.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Tomorrow.”

Clyde looked up at the sky, then back down at Relm. He stepped forward and squatted down besides her. 

“I’ve a question for you, then,” he said. “Actually, I’ve two.”

Relm halted the movement of her hands, seemingly taken aback. Clyde wondered if it was because he hadn’t immediately told her to _stay_. “Yeah?”

“Do you want the easy question first or the difficult question first?”

“What does it matter?”

Clyde laughed humorlessly. “Fine. We’ll combine them then. Where are you going, and when did you stop drawing me?”

Relm completely froze, and Clyde could hear her sharp intake of breath.

“You left your drawings on the table,” Clyde said, before Relm could utter any accusations of invaded privacy. He settled from his crouch to sit besides her on the ground. “The first night you were here.”

Relm raised her hands as if to gesture, and then let them fall back into her lap. She shook her head and resumed her carving. “I’m trying to find something. And I stopped drawing you when I realized you really weren’t coming back.”

Clyde drummed his fingers against a leg. “Fair enough,” he said. “Mind telling me what it is you’re trying to find?”

“Some of the boys have been talking about magic seeds that’ll grow a whole forest. Edible stuff, too,” Relm said, her voice suddenly taking on a confident one. “It’s a hopeful start, you know, vegetation being kind of scarce and all. So I’m going after the seeds. Supposedly they were on the Eastern continent. Before everything. So maybe they’re still here.”

“There’s no magic,” Clyde said.

“Maybe they’re not literally _magic_ ,” Relm snapped, avoiding eye contact. “Maybe they just… maybe they just _work_. Edgar himself said that there were new plants growing out there.”

“It’s just a fairy tale,” Clyde said quietly. “It’s—“

“You guys said the Phoenix Magicite was a fairy tale too. Big surprise! It _wasn’t_.”

“You’re being difficult.”

“Then go away.”

“ _Relm_.”

“I’m just sick of this,” Relm said, finally turning towards him. She dropped the paintbrush and blade to the ground and flung her arms out wide. “All of this. I’m sick of feeling bored and useless. I just… I couldn’t help Thamasa, I couldn’t help granddad, I couldn’t make you happy…”

“That’s not—“

“After seeing Edgar and Setzer I started to think. About how maybe I could be doing something for the world. Look at them; they’ve got plans, they’re raising money, they want to… change things. Meanwhile I’m just sitting here rotting away in this village doing nothing.”

Clyde half-smiled. “Way to put down the rest of us who’ve chosen to ‘rot away’”.

“You _are_ doing something, though. You protect this place. Everyone here loves Terra; she’s a mother to them. And you… well I’m not really sure what you do, but people seem to be scared of you, so I guess that counts for something.”

“It helps to have another skilled fighter here in case of attacks. I suppose you could say that’s what I’m here for.”

“Well you’re also here for Terra. I mean. You guys are…” Relm shook her head. “Honestly, I never saw _that_ one coming.”

Clyde laughed. “Neither did I. But that’s a story for another time. Now when were you planning to leave?”

“Soon. But then you interrupted me with stupid questions.”

“Stupid? This is the first actual conversation we’ve had in years. I’d argue the contrary and say they were rather effective.”

Relm groaned dramatically and flung herself backwards, kicking her legs out from under her to lay on her back, spread-eagled, on the ground.

“You’ve got problems, old man.”

“’Old man’?”

“Well let’s run through this here.” Relm held up her hands and began to count off her fingers with each name. “‘Clyde’ seems impersonal. ‘Shadow’ is dead and gone. ‘Dad’ isn’t really applicable. You’re an old man. So Old Man it is.”

“Well in that case, I get to call you Brat. It’s only fair.”

“ _Ugh_.” Relm rolled over onto her side, facing away from Clyde and tucking her knees up to her chest. They were both silent, then, for several minutes, the only sound their breathing and the waves in the distance, the breeze gently rustling through leaves.

“I just wish we could have been together when the world wasn’t dead,” Relm finally said.

“It’s not completely dead.”

“I talked to Terra,” Relm said. “About everything. Magic, and what it felt like. You should know; you had an Esper, didn’t you? You felt it… you felt it die.”

“I’m not often swayed by death,” Clyde said. “But the feeling was strange. Of a presence so tightly knit into one’s consciousness, suddenly gone.”

“Eloquent,” Relm deadpanned. “It was more than that though. I mean, having been born with it. Terra and Celes had it the worst though, I think. I mean, magic practically defined their existence, and it was _powerful_. Mine was just a dumb trick I did with paintings.”

“Your ‘dumb tricks’ saved us from death many times,” Clyde said. Relm didn’t respond, and Clyde heaved a long sigh before lying back to stretch out next to her on the ground. Hearing the movement, Relm rolled over onto her back, and the both of them stared up at the sky.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” Clyde said. “But I couldn’t…”

_There will always be things that we’ll probably never talk about. My past is one of them._

Relm made a noise in her throat.

“But here we are, I suppose.” Clyde nudged the rucksack with his foot. “It would sure be hypocritical of me if I told you not to go. But one thing I _can_ tell you is that you can’t escape the things that trouble you, no matter how far you try to run.”

“I could have guessed you’d say that,” Relm muttered. She fell silent. “I was gonna come back though,” she said quietly, and yawned.

“Right now you seem tired.”

“A little.”

Clyde sat up, and Relm did likewise, covering her mouth as she yawned again.

“Let’s get to bed. Interceptor’s probably lonely without you. Thanks for that, by the way. Stealing my dog. He never sleeps with _me_ anymore.”

Relm laughed softly. 

“If you still want to leave in the morning, I won’t judge you. But I won’t let you make a decision without some sleep first.”

“Fair enough,” she paused for a moment. “Can we… sleep out here?”

“It’s not safe, you know.”

“I’ll take my chances. I’d be sleeping out here _anyway_ , unbeknownst to you, if you hadn’t woken up and found me.”

Clyde sighed. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

By the time he returned after leaving a note for Terra and retrieving his dagger for peace of mind, Relm was already snoring.

He settled down on the ground next to her, and in minutes, he was peacefully asleep.

\+ + + + +

When Clyde woke the next morning, body aching from the hard, flat ground, Relm was gone.

He sat up and looked around, still groggy, searching for a sign of her, but saw nothing, save for the rucksack still on the ground. He felt a wave of relief wash over him at the fact that she hadn’t left. 

When he stood, he was able to catch sight of her, seated on the ground some distance away amongst an outcrop of stone and trees. He stretched, wincing at the popping of bones in his back, and walked over to join her.

“Good mor—“ Clyde’s voice caught in his mouth when he saw what Relm was looking at. There were flowers, tiny blooms purple-white and half-budded, clustered amongst a patch of weeds. Their color was vibrant against the muted shades of the surrounding plants; it was, in fact, the first non-edible vegetation Clyde had seen since the end of the world which wasn’t a sickly green or brown. 

“Relm?”

Relm remained silent, keeping a close eye on the flowers as if they might pick up and run away. After several moments, she poked gently at a petal, as if confirming that they were indeed real, before turning to look up at Clyde.

“It’s a flower,” she said.

“I know.”

“There _are_ no flowers.”

“I know.”

Clyde crouched down besides her and ran two fingertips along one of the slender stems. “Fascinating. I wonder how they grew?”

“Magic seeds.” Relm said, and laughed. “I told you so.”

“Perhaps. Guess you don’t have to go searching for them, now.”

“Yes I do,” Relm said, turning to look at him. “I’ll just… go tomorrow. Maybe.”

“What’s keeping you from going now?”

“I want to draw these first,” Relm said, reaching out to touch a petal again. “I want to draw them, in case they… die.”

“We’ll take care of them,” Clyde said. “We can send word via pigeon to Edgar. In fact, we can send your drawing _of_ them to Edgar, and maybe his fancy scholars can tell you whether or not they really are magical.”

Relm pushed herself to her feet. Clyde looked up at her from where he was still crouched, questioning.

“Stay here,” Relm said. Clyde nodded, and Relm turned to run back towards the Mobliz.

Carefully, Clyde plucked a blossom from a single stalk and held it in his palm. He’d place it on Terra’s pillow once she left to tend to the fields; she’d find it when she returned to bathe, later, while Clyde was out fishing.

He waited until Relm returned, and for the very first time, watched in fascination as she drew. He’d no idea if or when she’d really leave, but for now, there was a reason to stay. All of them had their reasons, and they’d continue to find new ones every day. He was sure of it.


End file.
